


Jumping Off a Cliff

by dettiot



Series: ink in my pen ran dry [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity and Oliver are standing on the verge of a precipice without realizing it.  What happens after they jump--and when they realize each other has jumped, too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Felicity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this whole story was the start of the sequel to Holding Your Breath. But when I realized how much time I was taking, I thought these moments deserved to be their own story. So this sets up where Felicity and Oliver are, right before they’re thrown back together. I hope you enjoy seeing Felicity’s steps toward recovery--you’ll get my take on Oliver’s return in the next chapter.

_Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down. Ray Bradbury_

XXX

New York Times, September 19, 2012  
 **Hansen Found Guilty On All Counts**   
In a resounding verdict, Harold Evans Hansen was found guilty of third-degree assault, attempted manslaughter, and computer-aided stalking in a Starling City courtroom yesterday. Hansen’s conviction came after over three years of detective work by the Starling City Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation and a prolonged trial, due to allegations of malpractice by both the defense and the prosecution. 

Hansen’s victim, Felicity Smoak, is a well-respected author and expert on women, technology and society. The publication of her book, _Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology_ , prompted considerable discussion on the role of women in society--and enraged Mr. Hansen. He was accused of stalking Ms. Smoak through online channels, and then, on December 22, 2007, he attacked Ms. Smoak in an alley only a block away from the Starling City Police’s headquarters. Ms. Smoak was left bleeding and beaten in the alley for forty-five minutes before she was found. 

The attack served not only as a referendum on the SCPD, one of the largest and most underfunded police departments in America, but also on the growing prevalence of cyber crime: illegal activities which occur online. Ms. Smoak had just left the SCPD station, where she had planned to formally report the online harassment she had been experiencing for several weeks, when she was attacked. 

With the guilty verdict, Hansen is now facing the sentencing portion of his trial. His lawyers have already indicated they plan to appeal the conviction.

“I am grateful that after so many years, I can begin putting my attack in the past,” Ms. Smoak commented during her post-trial press conference. “At this time, I just want to get back to my life: get back to writing books and watching Netflix and being with those who care about me, without thinking about my attacker.”

XXX

The shivers woke up Felicity Smoak. It had been several days since that had happened. She had hoped it meant she was finally starting to adjust to her new world. To a world that didn’t hold the same kind of fear as before.

But instead, she just got another reminder of how far she still had to come, when she awoke to the sensation of her skin crawling and her muscles tensed. 

Taking a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes in spite of her blurry vision and said out loud, “You’re safe. You’re free. And you’re strong.” 

It had been something her therapist had suggested, back when she could afford therapy. That Felicity needed to develop a mantra, something to focus on when she had flashbacks, when she felt like she was back in that alley, bloody and cold in the chilly December twilight. 

Most of the time she felt foolish for needing the crutch. But she couldn’t deny that it did help with the shivers. 

Her hand reached out to the small table next to her bed, fumbling for her glasses. Sliding them on, her world came into focus and she sat up. A small sigh escaped her lips as she took in the detritus of her last few days: coffee mugs dotting each table, dirty socks forming an infestation at the base of her coffee table, and printouts and computer parts scattered among the food containers on most surfaces. 

Maybe Sara was right and it was time for her to do some cleaning. Especially now that she had completed her latest contract job and had some rare free time. 

After she had finished up last night, Felicity had called Sara to give her the news. Her friend/bodyguard/assistant had immediately suggested going out to celebrate, but Felicity had managed to persuade Sara to stay in. So they had shared some Chinese and some wine, but not before Sara had looked around Felicity’s studio unhappily.

_“I know you’re a nerd and all, but do you really like living like this?”_

_Felicity shrugged as she dug into her orange chicken. “When I’m working, all I notice is when the coffee runs out. You should have seen the way my dorm room looked when I was working on my first book.”_

_“I guess being a genius gives you a bad sense of smell,” Sara had said with a bit of a laugh, before reaching out and gently touching Felicity’s shoulder. “If you want any help, just say the word.”_

_Not for the first time, Felicity felt a swell of gratitude for having Sara in her life. If you had told her five years ago that her best friend would be the girl who was Oliver Queen’s last conquest before being shipwrecked, Felicity would have checked them for signs of alcoholism. But it was true: Sara Lance had become her rock._

_Laurel’s younger sister had come into her life a year ago, when the trial against her attacker had begun. Felicity had needed help but couldn’t afford to hire anyone--and was too depressed and lost and lonely to see that she needed someone to help her carry the load._

_That was when Captain Lance and Laurel had staged an ad-hoc intervention and told Felicity that she would let Sara help her. Not only was Sara fun and cheerful, she also had a natural empathy that was soothing for Felicity. And with her martial arts training, Sara could protect Felicity. Not that it was necessary, Felicity knew. Her attacker had been--_

_Just thinking about him had made Felicity’s grip on her chopsticks tighten. She closed her eyes and went over all the facts. The trial had been concluded three weeks ago. The man who beat her senseless was sitting in Iron Heights, waiting to find out just how long he would be staying in prison. There was no one out there, planning to hurt her, wanting to hurt her._

_“Hey,” Sara said softly. She very carefully did not touch Felicity. “You want to watch a movie?”_

_Nodding quickly, Felicity opened her eyes and stuffed some chicken into her mouth. Sara reached forward and picked up a remote, navigating her way towards Netflix and putting on one of the action comedies she enjoyed._

_And for a little while, as the hero quipped and punched his way towards the thrilling finale and got the girl, Felicity managed to hold back her fears._

Coming out of her memories, Felicity took another look at her apartment and gave a determined nod. The first order of business for today was some cleaning.

Well, no. The first order of business was coffee. 

Going to the small coffee maker, Felicity put together what she needed for the bargain appliance to make a decent cup of coffee. Her beloved Paolo had been the last thing she had sold when the money got tight: medical bills and living expenses had eaten up her savings quickly, and without a new book for several years, her royalties had started decreasing recently. But she was okay. There was the contract work she was doing. And now that the trial was over, she could maybe start thinking about writing again. At least things weren’t so bad as they had been a few months ago, when she thought she’d have to take a job at her local Tech Village. 

That would have been bad. Not because she was too good for the work or anything like that. But because she hated the thought of not putting her mind to full use, to wasting her degrees like that. Plus, the polo shirts at Tech Village were seriously ugly.

With a shake of her head, Felicity focused on getting the coffee maker started. Then she picked up her tablet as she waited for the coffee to brew. She was slowly dipping her toe back into social media, after shutting down her accounts for years. It was nice, to feel like she was part of the bigger world again. Nice to form connections with people. 

After what had happened to her, it had been so tempting to just . . . give up. On living, on people, on the world. To expect the worst from anyone she encountered. And for a little while, she had. Kinda. But then there were the Lances, and her attorney Jean Loring, and her mother--so many people who reached out to her and helped her be strong. Not to mention all the strangers who had offered their support and encouragement during the last five years.

Now that the trial was over, now that she could start moving on, Felicity was ready to figure out what came next. The next chapter. 

The sight of an email from Laurel in her inbox made her smile a little. Because she had a feeling this would help answer that question.

XXX

"Laurel, I don't know how many different ways I can say no," Felicity said tiredly, resting her forehead against her propped-up hand.

"Telling me no over and over still doesn't answer my question, Felicity--it doesn't tell me why," Laurel retorted, her voice sharp. It had been a long time since Felicity had heard that tone in Laurel's voice. It was her agent voice. Had it been so long since Laurel played that role in her life that Felicity had managed to forget how cutting it was?

The answer was yes. Laurel had been one of her biggest supporters, ever since she had found out about what had happened to Felicity. The fact that Laurel had left New York and returned to Starling City--something she had vowed would never happen unless absolutely necessary--was proof of that. Laurel had been her friend for years. But now that she was trying to be her agent, Felicity missed friend!Laurel.

Because how could she tell agent!Laurel that there was no way she would write a memoir about the last five years of her life?

To Laurel, it made good business sense. An autobiographical memoir was bound to be a bestseller, especially when you considered it would be Felicity's first book in five years. "You need to get your side of the story out there, Felicity. Reclaim the narrative."

It was the kind of thing a therapist would say; in fact, Felicity's therapist had urged her to do just that. It made Felicity wonder darkly if Laurel had paid off her therapist to get access to their session notes.

Which was just crazy talk, Felicity told herself. And . . . even if Laurel was being more agent than friend right now, Felicity needed Laurel to do that. After all, she had to write something. Her royalties weren't what they once were, and her publisher had gone above and beyond for Felicity over the last five years. It was time for Felicity to pay them back for their support.

"I . . . I'm just not ready to go there, Laurel," Felicity said quietly, feeling a twinge of shame at how weak she sounded. "Is there any kind of compromise we can come up with?"

There was a long silence, and then Laurel sighed heavily. "Okay. What about the articles you've written over the years? I might be able to persuade Ex Astris to publish them as a collection . . . but only if you'd be willing to write some kind of foreword. Something that touches upon your experiences, but not in great detail. Could you handle that?"

She wanted to say no. To say that she never wanted to talk about that December day again. That with the trial over, there was no one else that needed to know what had happened to her. She didn't want to bleed to satisfy the idle curiosity of people who could care less about her.

But that wasn't a choice. She had to do this. So even though her skin crawled just thinking about it, Felicity nodded, gripping her phone a little tighter. "Okay, Laurel."

"I know this isn't easy, Felicity," Laurel said, her voice a bit softer. "But you need to start moving on. This will help, I think."

"I hope so, too," Felicity said, trying to sound okay with all this. "Is there anything else?"

The sound of tapping computer keys came through the phone, reminding Felicity of the days when she wasn't so scared of her computer. And that thought made her feel sad . . . and more motivated than she had felt in a while. Perhaps Laurel was right, after all. 

"No, that's it for now. I'll call you later this week, after I've talked to Martha," Laurel said, referring to the head of Ex Astris. "In the meantime, just take it easy. Maybe have a little fun? Sara's good for that."

For the first time during this call, Felicity smiled. "Yeah, she is. One of these days, the three of us should spend a weekend together."

"We will," Laurel said, her voice catching slightly. Not for the first time, Felicity wondered what was the story with the Lance sisters--why there seemed to be such a chasm between them, even though they both clearly loved each other. But this definitely wasn't the time to ask, so Felicity just said goodbye to Laurel and hung up the phone.

Which left Felicity alone with her thoughts.

She wished that she could find something to distract herself. That she could call Sara and have her come over for a movie marathon, or go out to a coffee shop with a good book and get lost in someone else's world. A better world, where people didn't have any reason to suffer.

But as nice as that sounded, that didn't make any sense, Felicity reminded herself. That would be a utopia, and everyone knew that utopia meant "nowhere" in Greek--in other words, it was a place that didn't really exist. 

People got hurt and suffered and became discouraged. It was a fact of life. It had happened to her. But it was up to Felicity to make sure that wasn’t all there was to her.

So she would write the foreword to the article collection. She would start doing research again, looking for the subject for her next book. And she would get out of this apartment. She would be part of the world she lived in. The real world, not some perfect world that didn't exist.

Standing up, Felicity began gathering her tablet, her jacket and her purse. She would go to the coffee shop she had practically lived in, five years ago. She would get a cup of coffee and read some news on her tablet and people-watch.

And maybe she would start considering Sara's idea that she should dye her hair blonde.

XXX

"Are you sure about this, Sara?" Felicity knew she sounded worried. Because that's what she was: worried.

After all, she had never dyed her hair before.

"Laurel and I used to do this all the time. You're in good hands," Sara replied cheerfully, rubbing the smelly dye into Felicity's hair. "And you're going to look hot when I'm done."

Felicity pursed her lips as she watched Sara in the mirror, then adjusted her glasses. “I don’t think so.” 

Her best friend was very sweet, but Felicity could not see how she could ever be hot. Sara was hot. Felicity? She was sweet. Cute, yes. Maybe even adorable if someone was grading on a curve and she was going up against tortoises or those baboons with the red butt cheeks. But hot? No way. 

Sara made a face at her. "You're gorgeous, and it's time you realize that."

She stayed quiet, not wanting to start a fight with someone who held Felicity's head in her hands. But she found herself contemplating Sara's words.

It had been so long since she had really thought about her appearance. Her physical recovery after her attack had been slow. And she had been left with the scars and patches of lumpy skin scattered over her torso. The worst was the scar that ran along her jaw, just underneath her left ear. It was tough for Felicity to not finger it whenever she was nervous. In addition, her eyesight had been damaged enough that she could no longer wear contacts--something that occasionally brought back unpleasant memories of her grade-school nickname: Felicity Four-Eyes. 

But even more damaging than the physical impact had been the emotional one. Caring about what she looked like had seemed so . . . insignificant. Not with everything she was facing. Plus, with her already-existing insecurities and the struggle of being a woman in the technology field, she had always tried to keep her looks out of the equation. She liked nail polish and lipstick, spent a lot of time on her hair . . . but never in a way that would make her stand out. 

Felicity frowned a little as she looked down at the beige polish on her nails. It was nice and didn’t show when it chipped . . . but it was boring. Safe. It had been good during the trial was going on, when she had to present a certain image of herself, but the trial was over. She could start her life over--she could do more. 

And maybe that meant taking chances. Ones she had never considered, like dying her hair and wearing blue nail polish and just . . . anything and everything. 

"Hey, Sara? Do you have any nail polish I could borrow?"

"Sure," Sara said, sounding a bit distracted as she lifted hanks of Felicity's hair. "I'll bring it over next time. And I think that's about it."

Leaning towards the mirror, Felicity turned her head, taking in the dye that coated her hair. Of course it hadn't changed colors yet, but it was pretty fascinating, how chemicals could make such a difference. It made her want to research how the dye worked.

Sara chuckled, watching as she took off the plastic gloves. "We've got about thirty minutes to wait before you rinse out the dye. Wanna watch some TV?"

Felicity nodded and followed Sara out of the bathroom. While Sara plopped down on the couch and picked up the remote, Felicity went to the coffeepot for some caffeine.

The sound of various programs drifted towards Felicity, but since she had her back to the TV, she didn't realize Sara had stopped on one channel until she heard the music that preceded a breaking news alert on Starling City's local affiliate of one of the major networks. But the anchor's words made Felicity spin around, heedless of the mug of hot coffee in her hand.

“This just in: Oliver Queen is alive. I repeat, Oliver Queen is alive. No further details have been released at this time, but keep watching KQBC as we stay with this story. But first, a few words from our sponsors.” 

The screen faded to black, and then a commercial for Big Belly Burger began playing. But Felicity barely noticed the ad, because she was still stuck on the fact that Oliver Queen was alive.

What?!?!? 

It was like her brain had suddenly crashed and was taking a very long time to reboot. Because . . . what? 

The news about Oliver’s disappearance had broken while she was still in the hospital. In the daze of pain and boredom she had been in, Felicity had heard nurses and her visitors chit-chatting about the fate of the Queen’s Gambit. However, the fact that Oliver Queen was most likely dead hadn’t even really sunk in until the first anniversary of his disappearance, when the press of Starling City kicked off a week-long mourning ceremony. 

And even then, given what anniversary she had been facing at the same time, the loss of Oliver Queen had never really hit her. Not like his return was doing right now, strangely enough. Because really, she barely had known him and she doubted he even remembered her before he had spent the last five years doing God-knows-what. 

"Oh my God," Sara said, her voice sounding thin and breathless.

Her friend's words broke the spell and Felicity immediately snatched up her battered tablet, pulling up as many news feeds as it could take. For some reason, she wanted to know how Oliver was doing. Wanted to know if he was okay. Which probably made her a horrible person, because she had never really considered that when he was missing. 

“Felicity?”

Sara’s voice interrupted her mad searching, making Felicity feel disorientated as she looked up. 

“Are you okay?” Sara asked immediately, looking worried, even as she threw a glance back at the television, clearly checking to see if the newscast was back on. 

“I can’t believe it,” Felicity said, feeling weak in the knees. “This is--this is crazy.” 

Her friend nodded slowly, looking equally dumbstruck. And Felicity was reminded of how she first encountered Sara Lance. And Felicity was surprised at the the stab of jealousy that memory brought up--that she was jealous that Sara had kissed Oliver Queen.

Which was just ridiculous, because . . . because . . .

But Felicity couldn’t come up with a reason. 

End, Chapter 1


	2. Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it’s time for Oliver. If you couldn’t guess, I’m diverging from canon here, except for those things that I want to include. :-) I hope you enjoy!

Channel 7 Breaking News Alert, October 10, 2012  
 **On-Air Anchor** : We interrupt this program with breaking news: Oliver Queen is alive. The Starling City resident was found by fishermen in the North China Sea, five days ago--five years after he was missing and presumed dead after the accident at sea which claimed the Queen’s Gambit. 

Channel 52 News Alert, October 10, 2012  
 **On-Air Anchor** : In a shocking development, Oliver Queen, believed dead since the shipwreck of the Queen’s Gambit five years ago, has been found. He was discovered on an island in the North China Sea. No reports on his condition or his activities during the past five years has been released yet, but Channel 7 is ready to bring you round-the-clock coverage of this miracle.

Starling City Examiner, October 11, 2012  
 **Oliver Queen Found Alive; Only Survivor of Queen’s Gambit Shipwreck; Will Reportedly Return to Starling City on Monday**

Wall Street Journal, October 11, 2012  
 **Queen Consolidated Stock Rises After News of Oliver Queen’s Rescue**

USA Today, October 12, 2012  
 **The Aftermath of Trauma: Experts Explain Oliver Queen's Road to Recovery**

People Magazine, October 15, 2012  
 **Oliver Queen Back From the Dead! The Miraculous Return of America’s Favorite Playboy**

Channel KQBC, October 15, 2012  
 **On-Air Anchor** : You’re watching live footage of Oliver Queen’s return home. The lost billionaire is rumored to be in physically satisfactory condition after five years on a deserted island, but he is being taken to Starling City General Hospital for further evaluation. It’s expected that his mother, Moira Dearden Queen, and his sister Thea will meet him there. 

TMZ, October 15, 2012  
\--Anyone else disappointed that Ollie Queen isn’t coming back with a couple of geishas?  
\--Geishas are in Japan, not China.  
\--Whatever. Hot little Asian chicks.  
\--Before, he liked brunettes, not Asians.  
\--Before, he liked women!   
\--Don’t know that Starling City is the best place to meet women nowadays, since all the smart ones have left town.  
\--What smart woman would want anything to do with Oliver Queen?  
\--I can think of a few reasons--and not only the billion or so he has in the bank!  
\--Seriously, welcome back, Ollie! We've missed you!

XXX

When he had left five years ago, Starling City had simply been home. The place where he grew up, the place he had always lived. 

Now it was his city. His to protect, his to save. 

It was the only way to make his father’s sacrifice matter. To redeem the mistakes the Queen men had made, and not just the ones from before the shipwreck. 

Which meant it was time for him to make some sacrifices of his own. 

Gazing out the window at the darkened skyline, the lights in buildings and homes twinkling, Oliver Queen knew that the lovely scene was a mirage. That the light couldn’t drown out the darkness--he had to eliminate the darkness, fix the rot that infected Starling’s core. 

The fingers on his right hand rubbed together, like they did when he was holding an arrow nocked on his bow. Not that different from how, in another life, his fingers would rub against the pen as he wrote. 

Oliver swallowed. The last five years had been about survival: about staying fed, about staying sheltered, about staying alive. There had been no time for regrets or what-ifs. No time to think about what he used to want. To wonder what he could have been, who he could have been with . . .

And there was no time for such thoughts now. 

He could feel eyes watching him. It was probably his mother . . . and hopefully Thea. He didn’t know what the delay was, so he kept his eyes forward, looking out the window. Waiting for the moment when there wouldn’t be silence any more. 

“Oliver.”

The scent of Chanel Number Five washed over him. Almost unconsciously, Oliver took a deep breath. Then he turned, knowing that the small, hesitant smile he had on his face was actually genuine.

“Mom.”

Moira Queen was older--of course she was. But it was more than just five years of aging on her face: there was worry and heartbreak in the almost-imperceptible lines. Her hair was a bit shorter, her figure just a bit less trim. And her face didn’t show the secrets she harbored, the secrets that his father had only hinted at before he had pointed a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

But she was his mother and she was on the verge of tears at the sight of him. 

“My beautiful boy,” she said, a catch in her throat as she wrapped her arms around him. 

He hugged her back, savoring this moment. Pushing aside all that he knew, the things that could poison this if he thought about them. He had spent five long years hoping for this reunion; right now, he could avoid thinking about the list and just remember that this was his mother. 

They stayed like that for a few long minutes. Oliver felt his mother’s shoulders shake a few times, but when she pulled away from him, there were no signs of tears in her eyes. She searched his face and then smiled softly. “We have missed you so much. Is it good to be home?” 

How else could he answer but to agree? It was what she wanted, what she expected him to say. From birth, he had been brought up to do what was required, what was proper. Even his wildest playboy antics had been accepted, because at least people could understand that. 

What he was planning to do, though . . . there could be no acceptance. There would be no understanding. That, among a hundred other reasons, was why no one could know about the trunk he had brought back from the island, about what he had learned since the Gambit went down. About what he was planning to become.

So with a tight smile, he nodded. “Yeah. It’s good to be home.” 

Moira rubbed his shoulder lightly. “Thea’s here--she begged to come with me instead of waiting at home.” 

“I’d love to see her,” Oliver said, feeling grateful for something he didn’t have to lie about. Because he did want to see his sister. After all, he had agreed to go with his father in order to preserve his relationship with Thea--a decision that he had never regretted, even with everything that had happened to him. And he wanted to see Tommy, too, even though he was pretty sure his best friend would want to drag him back into the party scene--something he wasn’t excited about. 

A crowd of people was something he was dreading, after five years of learning not to trust anyone. 

But Tommy would expect him to be the same old Ollie. That was what everyone wanted. And even though that Ollie had never really existed, not as anything more than an act, Oliver knew he’d have to put the mask back on. He wasn’t sure it would fit, but it was expected. 

His mother leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I’ll get her from the waiting room. Do you want to see Tommy? He’s been calling constantly, not to mention practically haunting the house, since the news broke.” 

“In a bit . . . maybe tomorrow. I want to spend some time with you and Thea first.” 

She paused, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him. Then she let out a soft puff of air that held a trace of laughter. “You’re so thoughtful now. And I’m well-aware of how that sounds,” she said, touching his shoulder again. “Of course you’ve changed. Not just physically, which is easy to see. But on the inside, too.” 

Oliver took a deep breath, once again smelling the perfume that said ‘Mom’ to him. Once on a street in Hong Kong, he had caught a fragment of that same scent and had been hit with a powerful longing to see his mother. To have his life be easy like it once was, when Moira could fix any problem for him. 

But she couldn’t fix this problem. She couldn’t fix him. 

At a loss for words, Oliver just nodded. “Yeah.” 

Moira gave him a small smile. “I’ll be right back.” She hesitated, then turned and stepped out of the room. 

Once again, he turned to look at the Starling City skyline. For a man who knew he was damaged, he thought he was holding it together well enough. The novelty of these reunions, though, helped him tamp down all his emotions and push them down into his gut. Once everyone got past the newness of his return, when he would have to start being more like the Ollie they wanted while hiding who he really was . . . 

That would be the real test. 

XXX

He hadn't known exactly what to expect from Thea. A hug? Tears? A slap in the face? A stream of questions? She had always been nosy--But that was the old Thea. Who knew how the last five years had affected her? She could be totally different . . . not unlike him.

Hopefully, not exactly like him. He didn't want to think of his sister as being broken. Bent and scarred and tortured like him. When he left with his father, he had done it so he wouldn’t have to leave Thea’s life. So he wouldn’t have to hurt her. But since he was Oliver Queen, he had ended up hurting her anyways. 

But none of that mattered when he saw his little sister for the first time in five years.

"I knew it!" she said, coming at him with the same intense energy that had made him call her Speedy. "I knew you were still alive!"

The feel of her thin arms around him, holding so tight to him, made Oliver realize just how broken he was. Because he knew he wasn't as strong as her. If their positions had been reversed, he doesn't know if he would have had the same belief. The same faith.

Thea pulled back and Oliver took a good look at her. She wasn't a slightly-gawky twelve-year-old anymore, although he could see that she still had to grow into her long arms and legs just a little. Her eyes held a faint shadow, a hint of the pain she must have experienced since the wreck of the Gambit.

But right now, she was smiling. And Oliver realized that Thea was beautiful. She was a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her. 

Oliver took a deep breath, feeling a wave of protectiveness. More than that: a compulsion to make Starling safe for Thea, for everyone who cared about someone like he cared about Thea.

If he could still feel like this . . . maybe he wasn't as hopeless as he thought. As he feared.

"Hey, Speedy," he said softly.

She rolled her eyes, reminding him painfully of the Thea he remembered--the Thea that didn't exist anymore. "Ugh, I had kinda hoped you had forgotten about that nickname while you were on that island." A sheepish, uncertain, scared look crossed Thea’s face, as she realized she shouldn't have brought up what had happened to him. She had probably been warned not to do so by their mother.

There would be a lot of that in the coming days, he guessed. People trying to be subtle as they slipped in their questions about the island, about the last five years. But there were only a few people that he would let off the hook for their fishing expeditions.

"It's okay, Thea," he said softly, gripping her shoulder. "I know you have questions."

"You don't have to talk about it," Moira said gently, speaking for the first time since she had lead Thea into the room. "Not yet, at least. We're just so happy you're home, Oliver."

Thea nodded and hugged Oliver again. He swallowed and hugged her back, starting to feel overwhelmed. Pressed down by all the emotions, all the secrets he was carrying. Because how could he ever tell them the truth?

Just a few details would set off a chain of questions and doubts in his remaining family. Once a question was asked, it had to be answered somehow. But Oliver couldn't give them the truth. Not if he was to do what needed to be done. 

No, it was better if he was vague in his responses. If he feigned mild amnesia or claimed it was too painful to talk about. Because he wasn't sure if he could bear to tell his mother and sister the truth about Robert Queen. About the way he had died--and about the way he had lived.

And if he couldn't tell them that . . . he couldn't tell them about his quest.

"Oliver, I've been talking with your doctors, and they say you can come home tonight if you like," his mother said, working very hard to keep that hopeful note out of her voice. But Oliver heard it, just like he saw the wistfulness in Thea's eyes.

Their care was almost smothering. But he simply smiled and nodded. "That sounds great."

If he couldn't give them the truth, he could at least give them normal.

"Wonderful," Moira said with a radiant smile. "Let me make some calls and handle the paperwork, and then we can leave."

"Okay," Oliver said, watching Moira leave and for a moment savoring the relief of letting someone else handle all the details. But it was only temporary relief, before he started feeling antsy and out-of-control. So he turned to Thea and smiled. "What's up with you?"

Thea hesitated a moment, her eyes flicking over his face. Oliver did his best to keep his expression blank and neutral, and it must have been enough to convince Thea. Because she tugged him over to the sofa in the room, pulling him down beside her as she began talking.

The steady stream of chatter helped ground him. But the touch of Thea's hand against his did even more.

XXX

Leaning back against the leather seat of Tommy’s Mercedes, Oliver could almost pretend that the last five years hadn’t happened. That he was still Oliver Queen, playboy and quasi-author, riding shotgun with his best friend again, making plans for the night. 

But one sight of the Glades made him realize that the last five years had been hard on a lot of people. He wasn't alone in suffering. 

“I don’t know why you wanted to come around here,” Tommy grumbled. “This place has gone downhill. Your dad closed his factory at the right time.” 

Oliver disagreed. Not just because Queen Consolidated closing that factory made things in the Glades even worse, but because he didn’t want to keep talking about the location he had already earmarked for his secret hideout. 

So instead, he turned his head to take in Tommy. 

Unlike his mother or Thea, the changes in Tommy were less noticeable. Still handsome, still charming, still the life of the party. But there was also a brittleness to him now. It was like the feeling you got when you bit down on a piece of tin foil: strange and off-putting. Yet he also seemed fragile, in a way Oliver couldn’t define.

“Okay, so something I wanna ask you,” Tommy said, turning the car and driving away from the Glades. “Are you letting your mom suck you into running QC?” 

“Right away? No,” Oliver said. “It was never something I wanted to do . . . ” 

Tommy nodded. “But . . .?” 

“But I’m sure that someday in the future, I’ll get tired of holding out and give in to her,” Oliver said with a small sigh. 

“Tell me about it. Dad’s making noises about me actually using my office at Merlyn Global for its intended purpose, instead of keeping it for boss/secretary fantasy sex.” Tommy made a face, then grinned. “But until then . . . there’s always Frat Boy Fraternity.” 

“Don’t tell me you kept it running?” Oliver asked, feeling surprised. 

With a shrug, Tommy glanced over at him before returning his eyes to the road that lead to the Queen mansion. “Yeah, I did. Kinda turned it into a memorial to . . . well, you.” 

The last thing Ollie Queen deserved was a memorial. He nearly blurted that out before he caught himself. Because he knew Tommy mourned him, just as much as his mother or Thea had. 

“Have you thought about it, though?” Tommy asked. “Picking it back up?” 

Oliver shook his head. “No . . . I mean, I'm not exactly a frat boy anymore.” 

Tommy swept a quick, measuring gaze over Oliver. “No. You’re pretty ripped, dude. Guess it was all the tree-climbing and coconut-cracking, right?” 

For Tommy, that was downright subtle. It fell between Thea’s straight-up questions about the island and his mother’s gentle encouragement to take his time hiding her assumption that he would eventually tell them. Oliver appreciated it, though. But there were just so many questions, and if he started answering them . . .

“Something like that,” Oliver said quietly. But both he and Tommy heard the finality in his voice, and Tommy simply nodded. 

“Well, if you wanted to write again, I’m sure everyone would be pounding down your door for it.”

“Only if I wrote about the island,” Oliver said. “And I’m not going to do that.” 

That shut Tommy down for the rest of the drive, leaving Oliver feeling like a dick. As Tommy pulled the car up to the front door of his house, Oliver turned to him. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried.” 

Tommy looked through the windshield for a long moment. “Yeah, I am,” he said, finally meeting Oliver’s eyes. “But if you want to keep it in, it’s your call, Ollie.” He paused, then gave him a weak grin. “Eventually you’ll crack, just like you did about Gillian DeMarco.” 

Oliver ducked his head, feeling his lips quirk up. “It was the first time I had sex in a hot tub. How could I not talk about it?” 

“How about the fact that you promised her you wouldn’t tell anyone?” 

“I promised right after I came,” Oliver protested, getting out of the car and leaning down to talk to Tommy through the window. “That shouldn’t count.” 

“Gillian thought it did--and so did her very large, very protective older brother,” Tommy reminded him, smirking widely. “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty for your welcome back party.” 

Nodding, Oliver straightened up and watched Tommy drive off. There was enough time before then for Oliver to do some research. He needed to figure out the first person to cross off from the List . . . needed to start ordering supplies for his hideout . . . needed to come up with a better name than ‘the hideout’. 

He took the stairs to his room two at a time, again feeling the sense of mustiness and disuse when he stepped into the room as he had last night. It must have taken Raisa a lot of work to get it ready for him, so he did his best to ignore the way the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Tried to not feel like he needed to find a place to hide. 

His old MacBook Air was still sitting on the desk. He couldn’t remember his passwords, but he bypassed the social media accounts for now to begin some searches for archery equipment and computers and all the things he would need to begin his secret crusade.

It was while he was looking into electronics that he came across a news article from a few weeks ago. One that answered a question he had tried not to think about: what had happened to Felicity Smoak. News that totally diverted his attention from his research and onto much more disturbing questions. 

What kind of sociopathic asshole could attack someone like her? Why had it taken so long for her attacker to be caught? And why the hell had Felicity needed to take the stand? He’d only been able to watch the recording of her testimony for a minute before he had to turn it off. Because the fear had been so palpable in her, even as she gritted her teeth and answered the softball questions from her lawyer. How had she stood up under cross-examination? 

Even with all he had seen of the world, none of this made sense to Oliver. 

The more he read and watched, the less he understood it, until finally he had to lean back in his chair and close his eyes. He thought there was nothing that could surprise him anymore. But reading about Felicity Smoak’s attack had done just that. 

Actually, there were two surprises for him. One was that something this awful had happened to the last woman who deserved such an attack. The other was how much he wanted to break into Iron Heights and put an arrow into the man responsible for hurting her.

Because Felicity Smoak should not hurt, ever. 

Oliver swallowed. He couldn't make this about one person. Because it wasn't. It was about saving his city. Crossing names off the List.

And it was time to get started.

End.


End file.
